


Closer

by KeepGoing



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Date Night, Dominant Ian, Gay Club, M/M, Married Life, Smut, mickey finally dances, practically sex on the dance floor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24672259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepGoing/pseuds/KeepGoing
Summary: His long fingers reach out to brush against your chin and you hum into the touch. You spread your own hand against his hard chest and watch as the lights make patterns on your skin against his shirt. You don’t know if it’s the whiskey, this room, or the music loud and demanding in your ears and body, or if it's just him. Large and taking up all the air in the room like was meant to.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 16
Kudos: 168





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to see Mickey dance with Ian. 
> 
> This is just sex on legs. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Dark liquid has made its way into your veins and  the apprehension and plain annoyance you had about being dragged here on the first free night the two of you have had in months slowly begins to  dissipate as the shots you downed, one right after another when you first entered the club , slowly begin to make your skin heated and limbs loose. 

You can blame it on the alcohol at first, but when the club lights hit his pale skin in hues of  blue and red and yellow, it makes you swallow down thoughts and words on the tip of your tongue. These places still bring back bad memories for you; like an uncomfortable hum on your skin when you think about him in these places. You know those  days; those memories are long gone; like a bad dream that took you years to bury deep. But you know  he’s still a social guy. He needs crowds sometimes. He needs the push of people against him; he needs to feel the deep bass of music thumping against his rib cage. 

His eyes are closed and his head is leaned back toward the diamonded ceiling and his body is doing that slow roll thing that  you’ve never seen another man be able to do so flawlessly. His hair seems even more red with the flashing  almost seizure inducing lights and they are reflecting and bouncing off his tight white  t-shirt . Fuck he is so beautiful. It makes your chest  actually ache at how you  can't put into words the feeling he gives you. Not just now. But every day. When  he’s putting on his boots. When  he’s flipping pancakes like  he’s Gordan fucking Ramsey. When  he’s just  leisurely smoking cigarettes not even realizing how perfect he is. 

Its magnetic. How you end up in his space, pushing your chest against his, breathing in his air and his scent. He looks down at you; his hair already sweaty and falling against his forehead. He smirks, that flirty  devious one he gives you when he has things on his mind that only involve you naked and writhing underneath him. His long fingers reach out to brush against your chin and you hum into the touch. You spread your own hand against his hard chest and watch as the lights make patterns on your skin against his shirt. You  don’t know if  it’s the whiskey, this room, or the music loud and demanding in your ears and body, or if  it's just him. Large and taking up all the air in the room like was meant to. 

The bass is deep and drumming under your feet and in your ears and ricocheting off your skin. You can feel it against the palm of your hand as it presses deeper into his chest and  it's in sync with his heartbeat and god you’ve never more in love.  He’s just surrounds you in every  pore of your skin and you feel him,  he’s everywhere inside you and outside of you. Your skin prickles as he stares at you and he rubs the pulse point on your neck and your eyes slide closed at the intimacy of the  touch.  It's such a simple gesture; so gentle, slow; and it breaks you apart. 

“Mick...” His voice is like liquid pouring over you and soaking you in need. You open your eyes and  have to catch your breath in the intensity in his gaze.  It's so open, wanton, and it mirrors yours. 

“Ian...” You say is first name so rarely. Usually only in bed, right before you cum all over yourself or him. You  don’t know why you leave it for moments like that. Maybe because his makes his eyes darken and soften all in a moment and  you're amazed every damn time at how you, a nobody from south side Chicago, can make a man like him look like that. Feel like that. You  don’t deserve that look. You never did.  He’s always looked at you like that, like  he’s looking at you now, and your heart is beating out of your chest demanding exit. Demanding to run like your body and emotions did so many times to him. 

You both are just standing there, so close, eyes locked and gentle sweeping touches between your bodies and you can still hear the music, feel it against your skin, and you don’t know why but all you want is to feel his body dancing against yours. 

You reach up and  slowly pull his hand away from your neck and wrap your fingers into his. He smiles; that blinding elated smile he gives you when push all the old fears and second thoughts aside and allow yourself to feel and just be his. You step away and around him, hand still clinging to his like a lifeline and pull him into the crowd. His eyes widen slightly his smile fading into something different. Something hungrier. He knows what you want. What  you're doing for him. Something you swore you never would. This  isn't like dancing to some cheesy pop song at your wedding. This is primal. This is sex with clothes on. This is pure lust.

You get it now as you smell the sweat on the skin of the people your pushing past. As you feel the beat of the music pulse through your body. You get why people, why he, enjoys this. You feel his chest against your back and his hands on your chest rubbing up and down against your tight  t-shirt . His fingertip brushes your nipple and you groan and he moans softly in your ear.  He’s so close, pressed against you and suddenly your turned around and brought flush against him. You  don’t even have a chance to focus your eyes before his mouth is on yours, open and wet his tongue already half way into your mouth. 

You accept it, and give back, your hands wrapping around his face as his long fingers spread out around the back of your neck. His cock is hard and throbbing against your thigh and he tastes like tequila and mouthwash and you can smell his deodorant and bodywash and that familiar  heady scent of his sweat. He mouths at your chin and you press your mouth into his neck, licking  a long line all the way up his jugular. His hands press down against your back and grab at your ass in the tight dark jeans he loves so much.  He’s panting in your ear like he does when  it's just the two of you in your bed and he  can't wait to be inside you. 

His hips are grinding, moving, swaying against yours and  he’s digging his fingertips into your ass,  pulling and pushing you to move in  rhythm with him. You give in, because how can you not when his wet shirt is pressed against yours and  he’s murmuring dirty nasty things in your ear and into your neck. The music drops and a beat starts that you think you recognize.  You’ve heard the song before but  not quite like this. You pull back, just slightly because you need to see his eyes. 

The lights are like small stars in his eyes; changing between purple and yellow; and  he’s giving you this little upturn of his lips as he presses his hips harder into yours. You slide your head back and give in; to him, to the song you now know, to the smell of the bodies around you, to the feeling of knowing he could have anyone in this club, but he wants you.  He’s touching you. His dick is rock hard in his jeans for you. Only you. 

He bites at your neck and you wrap your arms around his neck and let him lead you with his dancing that can only be described as foreplay. 

**_You let me violate you_**   
**_You let me_** ** _desecrate_** ** _you_**   
**_You let me penetrate you_**   
**_You let me complicate you_**

He’s mouthing the words into your neck and you  smirk because he knows you love this band; your teenage years swimming into view. Nights on the roofs of  abandoned buildings as you drank and smoked until your throats were raw and your ass becoming just as raw as he pounded into you  over and over again . His hands have never left your ass;  kneading and pressing into the mounds of flesh pushing you closer and closer into him. You dig your blunt fingernails into his back as he grinds into you. He keeps licking your neck; all tongue and spit and fuck you love him in such a primal way. 

**_You can have my isolation_**   
**_You can have the hate that it brings_**   
**_You can have my absence of faith_**   
**_You can have my everything_**

You press your forehead to his and grind your dick so hard into his he bites his lower lip, a move he learned from you, and moans out your name thickly. The bass is vibrating off your bodies and his hands curve up underneath your  t-shirt and he rakes his nails down your skin. Your hips stutter and you attack his mouth in  an open  assault. Your tongues are  battling ; not even really kissing; just licking into each other mouths and breathing in each other’s alcohol drenched breath. You can see men crowding around the two of you in your  peripheral and when you feel another hand, not his, slide down your back and a growl  emits from your husband you have never heard before. 

The body behind you is being pushed back with force and his eyes are like fire as he  enunciates every syllable of ‘He’s mine’ before locking his mouth and hands back onto you in a possessive and painful way. Fuck. Yes. This is what  you’ve been waiting for. What you crave every time he is near you.  It's what makes you such a bitch.  You're his.  You’d get on your knees and suck his cock right now if he just gave you a look. You beg him with your eyes for that look. He just smirks at you and uses his knee to spread your legs and he pushes up; a grind of his hips; and your own dick finds itself trapped against his thigh. 

Your eyes roll back into your head with heat and pleasure and he sucks on the skin of your neck knowing  he’s leaving marks and bruises that will be there for days.  He’s claiming you; on this dance floor so all these other men know who you belong to.  He’s using his body and his mouth to prove  you’re his and only his. 

**_Help me_**   
**_Tear down my reason_**   
**_Help me_**   
**_It's_** ** _your sex I can smell_**

“I  could fuck you right here, you know.” He whispers into the shell of your ear. He moves around you until your back is flush against his chest. He presses, grinds, swirls his clothed cock against your ass, fingers bruising your hips under your shirt. “Pull down your jeans...” He licks your ear. “Shove my cock inside you. It would burn, but  you’d stretch around me like you always do. Because your ass was made for my cock.”  You're head leans back against his shoulder and he bites at your neck and jaw. God, there is going to be so many marks for you to press your fingers into days from now as you remember this night. You swallow loudly against his mouth and he  practically giggles .

“You want me to. You want me to show all these men looking at you, wanting you, wishing they were me right now. You want me to bend you over and fill you up. You want them to see my cum drip out of you. Owned and wrecked.” You  shudder back against him and he slowly slides his hand around to cup your dick through your jeans. “Jesus, Mick. I can feel how wet you are even through these.” He gives you another squeeze. 

You grab his hand and push it against the button of your jeans and he moans and quickly flicks it open with two fingers.  He’s gotten so good at that over the years. His hand is inside your boxers in seconds and the moment his hand wraps around you your hips stutter and push against his hand. 

“I want you to cum. All these men are watching me touch you. I want them to see what I do to you.” He bites your jaw and continues to dance, if it can even be called that at this point, against you and you know  he’s trying to get himself off against your ass. You must look ridiculous at this point; pushing your ass against his dick while working your hips as he jerks your cock with long hard strokes. Your dizzy; from the lights and the whiskey and his smell and the  forcefulness of his hand. Your balls ache for release and your breath is coming out in loud gasps. 

“Cum, Mick. Come in my hand. Come all over me.” His voice is like gravel against your cheek and he just keeps licking at any skin he can find.  You’re close. You wonder how  you’ve lasted this long. 

**_I want to fuck you like an animal_**   
**_I want to feel you from the inside_**

He whispers the lyrics into your ear and you feel the tingle in your spine and your balls draw up tight against your body.  You're shaking; trembling as he snakes his other arm around your body and pulling you tighter against him as he pushes and slides against your ass.  He’s moaning and whimpering and fuck this feels like nothing  you’ve ever felt with him. You know people are watching and you should care, you should be pissed that strangers get to see this part of the two of you. What you do to each other. This is intimate in the most delicate but primal of ways that you get a hint of  embarrassment but you  can't bring yourself to open your e yes.  Y ou're afraid to. Afraid to break the spell you have found yourself in. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Mick. The way your body moves. The way you speak. Walk. Your legs.  You're fucking ass.” He grinds so hard against  you; you almost fall forward but he keeps you grounded with his arm wrapped protectively around your body. “Now be a good boy, and CUM.”

You  don’t want to think about now, but you know you will later, why those words make you vibrate and shatter into a million pieces and blow all over his hand. He groans, loud, practically screaming, and you feel his hips press and hold against your ass and you feel the warmth spread against his jeans. He jerks you through your orgasm, until  it's too much and you  whine , like a little bitch, and he  slowly pulls his hand out of your jeans. You  don't even bother to button them back up because your boneless against him and  he’s still holding you flush against his chest. 

You watch as he brings his hand up to his mouth and turn your head to watch him lick your release off his fingers. He moans around each finger, eyes still dark and lights still flickering into his iris’s. You crane your neck and lick into his mouth to taste your own cum and he sucks on your tongue and lips for minutes as a new song starts and you  can't bring yourself to break away from him. Like his warmth and hands are keeping you grounded to the floor. 

You finally turn into his arms and look up at him.  He’s smiling. That  goofy smile he has after sex when  he’s relaxed and happy. He looks happy. You made him happy. 

“Thanks.” He whispers. You  snort out a laugh and finally reach down to re-button your jeans. 

“What for? I make you cum in your pants all the time.” 

He barks out a laugh and hugs you close to his body. His hips are still swaying, he  can't seem to help it, and kisses the side of your sweaty head. 

“You danced with me.” His voice is so gentle and you shiver against him. You know people are still staring, still dancing a little too close to the two of you for your liking, but you  don’t care.  Maybe you’ve changed.  Maybe he’s changed you.  Maybe it’s the ring on your finger.  Maybe it doesn’t matter. 

“Anything for you, firecrotch.”

That earns you a slap on the ass. 


End file.
